


Tiger Potter and the Severe Case of Lockhartoma

by toutcequonveut



Series: Tiger Potter [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Art, Autistic Irma Pince, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Canon Rewrite, Digital Art, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Humor, MTF Harry Potter, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Tiger Potter, Trans Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25092982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toutcequonveut/pseuds/toutcequonveut
Summary: “HARRY POTTER MUST NOT GO BACK TO HOGWARTS!”“Oh, well that’s all right then. I’m not Harry Potter.”The saga of the trans Girl who Lived continues with Tiger Potter's second year at Hogwarts!
Series: Tiger Potter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736806
Comments: 72
Kudos: 271





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by bafflinghaze! Thank you so much for your endless patience!
> 
> This work is part of a canon rewrite series and may not make much sense as a standalone (or maybe it will? I dunno, I'm the author). Chapters 2 and 3 will be uploaded over the next 2 days!
> 
> By the way, this part STILL doesn't have the scene that inspired me to write the series, but we're getting there ;D Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summer before Tiger's second year at Hogwarts

Tiger’s summer quickly goes downhill.

Initially, things had seemed great. Uncle Vernon was anxious around her and kept giving her side-eye glances, as if keeping her in his line of sight would make her less likely to use magic. Aunt Petunia’s preferred tactic was to give her more food. Tiger supposed her aunt thought that keeping her fed would keep her appeased, like an actual tiger in the zoo. Dudley, conversely, preferred to stay as far away as possible. He would occasionally grab at his bum and run screaming if Tiger started to wave her hand around and say mysterious words that would sound like spells to his ears (though she did not have many opportunities to do this, sadly). 

Obviously, Tiger could see the advantage of keeping the Dursleys in the dark about her legal inability to do magic outside of school. Plus, she was actually getting fed now! The downside (aside from the constant misgendering that no amount of fear of magic would change) is that Uncle Dursley has insisted on locking her away in Dudley’s second bedroom and even put bars on the door and window. Tiger very much felt like her namesake when she saw that, caged in four walls. Except, she supposed, tigers in zoos actually received some kind of enrichment to make their lives in captivity less boring. 

At least Hedwig visits her. Uncle Vernon had locked all her school things away in the cupboard under the stairs the instant they arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive, but Tiger had let the owl out while still in the car. She had spotted the barred window from the outside of the house and was determined that there would only be one caged magical being in this household. So Hedwig is able to hunt and deliver letters, and keep Tiger company when she feels like it.

Delivering letters does not do much good, though. Tiger writes to Hermione, Ron, and Neville on arriving at the house. Three days later, she sends letters to Lavender and Parvati. Then, after a week of no response, she supposes that the others are fairly busy with their own summer plans. Tiger can barely last an hour without descending into boredom, and she can only practice singing for a few minutes before Uncle Vernon threatens to throw her in the cellar if she doesn’t stop that racket. She sends Hedwig winging with letters to Madame Pince and Professor McGonagall, and, in desperation, even writes to _Draco_. So when those garner no replies, she knows that something is up. 

It takes her two weeks of watching carefully after she sends letters off with Hedwig, but she manages to catch a small creature with huge eyes one night in the instant before he snatches the letter off an unfamiliar owl in the window. The bird hoots indignantly at the rolling figures scuffling on the floor beneath it, holding out its leg patiently until Tiger, exhausted but sitting triumphantly on top of the trussed-up interloper, takes the letter and tosses it on the desk. Then she turns to face her captive.

“Who are you? And, I’m sorry if this is rude, _what_ are you?” she asks. 

“I is being Dobby the house elf!” the little thing cries.

“Okay, Dobby then. Dobby, why have you been stealing my mail?”

“DOBBY DOES NOT STEAL! That would make Dobby a BAD ELF! Oh, but Dobby is already a bad elf, a very bad elf, Dobby should really not be doing this, but Dobby must!”

“Alright, alright!” Tiger hastily assures him. The poor elf looks like he’s about to cry, and she’s already frightened that her uncle is going to barge in and find something magic and go berserk. “You didn’t steal then. So, why have you been… intercepting my mail?”

“BECAUSE HARRY POTTER MUST NOT GO BACK TO HOGWARTS!”

“Oh, well that’s all right then. I’m not Harry Potter.”

“You… you is not?” the little being peers up doubtfully at Tiger’s messy hair underneath which there may or may not be a scar. She’d been growing it out for her own purposes, but it seems that there is at least one hidden benefit to her impossibly thick hair covering her forehead. “Dobby did wonder why the letters were not being addressed to you by name.”

“No, my name is Tiger—”

“You is being the Tiger Turpin that the young master is so fond of!” Dobby exclaims. “Very sorry, Dobby is not knowing how he could have made such a mistake, clearly Dobby is a very bad elf, Dobby will go iron his ears now—”

“No!” Tiger shouts, grabbing his hands before he can do any such thing. “But er, maybe you could give me back my mail? It should all be addressed to Tiger. Anything that says to Harry Potter was er, misdelivered. He used to live here, you see.”

“That is making much sense!” Dobby shrieks. Tiger hastily turns to make sure that the Dursleys will not come bursting through the door anytime soon, but after a few seconds and no thundering footsteps, Tiger figures that Dobby must have put some kind of silencing spell on the room. When she turns back, Dobby is holding out a stack of letters, though he is holding onto one with handwriting that looks as if it had been sent from Hogwarts. He poofs away with that letter before Tiger has the chance to see more, though. Oh well, she supposes that she can always write to Hermione asking for the required materials this year. She’s sure Hermione won’t mind.

* * *

After about a month, Ron writes that he will either write to the Dursleys himself to ask Tiger to come stay at the Burrow, or they can live with the consequences. Tiger laughs bitterly, because what can a 12-year old really do? None of the Dursleys will approach her door, and while she does try to flag Aunt Petunia’s (or anyone’s) attention to relay Ron’s message, opening her mouth to speak only results in her aunt screaming at her to stay quiet. 

So Tiger isn’t expecting much. Needless to say, the flying car takes her by surprise.

By the time she gets her things into the Ford Anglia and is jerkily on her way to the Weasley residence, she’s convinced this is a dream. Even as she falls into a cot and quickly descends into sleep, a dark part of her mind whispers that in the morning she will face those same bare walls and barred window.

That’s not the case, though. When she awakens, it’s to find herself in a small room with pink walls and Quidditch posters. There’s a sleeping figure in the bed on the opposite side of the room, so Tiger carefully extracts herself from the bed and goes searching for the bathroom. After she’s finished there, she creeps down the stairs to observe her new surroundings.

* * *

The chewing out that Mrs. Weasley gives Ron, Fred, and George is intense, so much so that Tiger quietly leaves to explore the upstairs. Even in the attic, Mrs. Weasley’s voice carries clearly. Apparently the boys hadn’t exactly _asked_ their father before taking his experimental flying car on a rescue mission. When Tiger returns, Mrs. Weasley has moved on to being upset that Fred and George had set up the cot in Ginny’s room without asking either their sister or mother. Ron’s argument that Ginny hadn’t even woken up while Tiger was in the room is moot: they should have gotten permission. Tiger thinks that’s fair, though a small part of her wonders if Mrs. Weasley is upset because she thinks Tiger should be rooming with the boys instead. 

Ginny herself is another issue. The girl stares at Tiger from a minimum of one room away, and it’s kind of off-putting. Luckily, Tiger has experience dealing with starstruck fans thanks to one Draco Malfoy. While Ron is distracted arguing with his brothers, she slips across the room and slides into the seat next to Ginny. The younger girl’s eyes are so wide they look like they’re about to pop out.

Tiger sits a moment and smiles at the girl. She has to figure out why Ginny is so enamored with her and then she’ll be able to formulate a plan. Ginny doesn’t seem to be as inclined as Draco to blurt out what’s got her heart so enamored, so Tiger decides to treat this as a case of grade A Harry Potter worship. Internally, she grimaces. It’s much more fun to pretend to be an alternative rock star than this particular charade.

“You know,” she mentions casually. “I’ve been very lonely.”

“Oh?” Ginny squeaks. 

Tiger sighs dramatically. “Yes. All I hear is Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that. But no one really knows the _real_ me. I’m Tiger, not Harry Potter! Anyone who sees Harry doesn’t _really_ know me. Haven’t you ever felt like no one really sees you for _you?_ ” At this last question, she looks up and directs her green gaze straight into Ginny’s brown eyes. 

“Um, I… I suppose I have,” Ginny replies shyly. She leans forward a little and confesses, “Mum has always been so thrilled to have a girl, and she gives me all these dresses and pink stuff and doesn’t really listen when I say I’m not very fond of it.”

Aha! There’s her ticket in. Tiger claps her hands together, softly so as not to attract the attention of the other kids or Mrs. Weasley. “Yes, you get it! All I want is to have friends who really see me as _me_ , you know? Like how it’d be nice if your mum noticed that you don’t like the dresses or pink stuff she gives you. I want people who come up to me and ask to be my friend. I would definitely _not_ want to talk to anyone who stared at me from afar and wouldn’t actually talk to me. I think it would feel kind of creepy to be watched like that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, of course!” Ginny stammers. “That makes p-perfect sense!”

“I’m so glad we’re on the same page, Ginny.” Tiger heaves an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I know I can count on _you_ not to let me down. You seem like the kind of girl who can do anything she puts her mind to.”

Ginny nods rapidly, not unlike a bobblehead doll. “Of course! You can count on me for _anything_.”

“And it goes both ways,” Tiger assures her. “Shake on it?”

She extends a hand, which Ginny tentatively shakes and then promptly faints. Tiger huffs in annoyance, but she can’t expect instant change. At least now Ginny will hopefully be less intimidated and actually _talk_ to her. It’s much more fun to have conversant minions.

* * *

Hermione arrives a couple days later, fresh from her own family’s vacation in France. “Tiger!” she yells in delight, spotting her friend immediately at the center of the room. “I didn’t think you’d actually make it! Didn’t you say your relatives were being horrid and you’d be stuck there till September?”

“I put together a rescue mission!” Ron pipes up proudly. He opens the door wider so Hermione can step fully over the threshold.

“You mean, little brother—” Fred interjects, popping out from behind the door.

“—you _suggested_ a rescue mission—” George adds, materializing from the other side of the doorframe.

“—which your dear older brothers were kind enough—”

“—to assist you with—”

“—in delivering one Tiger Lily Potter from Point A to Point B—”

“—in which the B stands for Burrow of course—”

“—naturally Burrow and not Bibliomancy—”

“—nor Baboonery—”

“—nor Bressummer—”

“—but the Burrow, the dwelling that houses us Weasleys—”

“—resulting in the revolution you now observe before you.”

The twins then turn inwards and gesture to the center of the room, where Ginny is standing with crossed arms, feet planted firmly shoulder-width apart before a shocked Mrs. Weasley. Tiger is standing to Ginny’s side, hands clasped demurely in front of her with downcast eyes.

“But darling,” Mrs. Weasley starts. “That’s rather a lot, don’t you think?”

“It really isn’t!” Ginny says firmly. “I’m telling you, Tiger says that all the pink in my room is giving her really bad headaches, so I need to stop having pink things. Don’t you want your guest to be comfortable? And besides, I’m not asking you to buy me new things, I’m just asking for some Color-Changing Charms.”

Tiger coughs quietly, then quickly resumes her previous posture.

“ _And_ for you to stop getting me anything pink from now on. Tiger’s going to be coming round a lot, right? Since she and Ron are best friends and all. So we’ll need to make sure my room is _always_ comfortable for her to stay in.”

This time, Tiger’s cough is a little more pointed.

“And _also_ , all my dresses are making Tiger sad.”

“What?” Mrs. Weasley demands. “Ginevra, are you having me on?”

“It’s true!” Tiger cries dramatically. “I’m so sorry, but with my family the way they are, they don’t accept me, so I’ll never be able to wear dresses there or even take any home, because they wouldn’t approve.” She buries her face in her hands, and her shoulders start shaking but no sound is emitted.

“You see?” Ginny demands. “Tiger told me that it would make her much more comfortable if she could see other girls wearing shorts and pants like she has to do, to remind her that she’s just as much of a girl as we are. So I won’t wear any dresses or skirts anymore!”

There is a good deal more back-and-forth exchange between Ginny and her mother, and when it looks like Ginny is beginning to wilt under the prolonged confrontation, Tiger begins to sob audibly and runs from the room, dashing straight into Hermione because she isn’t looking where she’s going.

Hermione, being at least four inches taller than the other girl, easily catches Tiger, intending to steady her. Instead, Tiger grabs her wrist and whisks her outside. The two of them tromp through the orchards until Tiger finds a secluded enough spot. Then, she sinks to the ground and begins howling with laughter. Hermione, bewildered, isn’t sure what to do. She had been preparing to comfort the other girl, calling upon advice from the book she had read three summers ago titled _How to be friends with other people_. It seems that will no longer be necessary though?

Ginny finds them a few minutes later. Her appearance causes Tiger to hush abruptly and ask, “Did she do it?”

Ginny smirks. “I think that last bit of waterworks did it. I’m going to be pink-free tonight!”

“With pants on!” Tiger crows, and the two dissolve into fits of laughter.

After several minutes, Hermione demands, “Will someone _please_ explain what is going on?”

Tiger attempts to answer through spasming chuckles. “Ginny… she… doesn’t like all that pink and dresses and stuff her mom wants for her… so we just… hatched a plot… and it worked!” 

“I still can’t believe it!” Ginny cries. “Eleven years of putting up with all that, that, that _stuff_ , and then you fix it all in like, a day. You’re my hero, Tiger!”

“Oh, oh no,” Tiger stops laughing abruptly and pats Ginny’s hand. “We talked about this, remember?”

“Yes, right! You’re not my hero, you’re my _friend_.”

“That’s better.”

Ginny hesitates, then says, “...Can I ask a question though?”

“Yes?”

“Do dresses really make you sad? You sounded like you were really crying back there.”

Tiger frowns a little, her mirth dampened. “It’s true that I could never bring them back to my aunt and uncle’s place. That would just be asking for disaster. But no, I don’t think it would make me particularly sad to see people wearing dresses,” she muses, then catches Ginny’s eye and gives a half-grin. “I’d much prefer seeing people wear dresses who actually _want_ to wear them though. Happiness is the best look on people.”

Hermione huffs, though there is a smile on her face. “That’s all very good, but can we go back now? I still haven’t actually gotten to go inside the house. And I’m kind of curious to see what Ginny’s room looks like before it’s de-pinked.”

* * *

For the first time in her life, Tiger has a _birthday party._ It’s not anything extravagant like Dudley’s have always been, but Lavender, Parvati, and Neville come over and there is food and cake and people who want to wish her a happy birthday. Ginny had also invited her best friend Luna Lovegood, asserting that Tiger would love her, but the invitation is declined. Mr. Weasley explains that Mr. Lovegood sends his heartfelt congratulations to Tiger instead but that Luna is still not fully recovered from the accident that had killed her mother in front of her. That’s a lot for Tiger to take in, but she supposes this Luna isn’t so different from her. Tiger’s mother had also been killed in front of her, but Tiger at least couldn’t remember it so it didn’t give her nightmares (except for when she had dreams involving the Dursleys). 

After her birthday, the most unusual thing that happens is going school shopping with the Weasleys. Mr. Weasley gets in a fistfight with Draco’s dad on the floor of Flourish and Blotts. Tiger isn’t sure how it started because she was deep in the stacks obscured behind her overly large sunglasses and floppy sun hat. The disguise had been a stroke of genius, because no one had accosted her demanding for a handshake from Harry Potter. She had even gotten to talk to Draco a bit, though he had decided himself that Tiger risked discovery by speaking to him and had all but sprinted away from her so as not to reveal her disguise. 

All in all, the summer ends on a much higher note than it had begun. Tiger Potter walks through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ with ease and boards the train, ready for her second year at Hogwarts. 

On the platform, a lone house elf watches the barrier as long as he can, searching for Harry Potter, until his master commands him to take everyone home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first half of the Tiger's second year at Hogwarts

Defense Against the Dark Arts is a joke this year. 

Tiger hadn’t been particularly fond of the class last year, even less so once she discovered that Professor Quirrell was maybe-probably-evil. Professor Lockhart, however, takes the cake. On the first day of class, he releases a cage full of Cornish pixies and then is completely incapacitated within ten seconds, so the students have to set everything to rights. 

At least he hasn’t been weird about Tiger’s fame. She had been nervous of his reaction after seeing how in love with his own fame he was. Fortunately, everybody at Hogwarts seems to have settled into the fact that this is Tiger, not Harry Potter. Additionally, Parvati had taught her how to use makeup the first night of term. Tiger’s morning routine now includes a few minutes of foundation and concealer, and her scar is virtually invisible. This combination of factors means that Professor Lockhart doesn’t push too hard when Tiger says that she’s not Harry Potter. She just doesn’t look the part, and no one else bats an eye because she _isn’t_ Harry Potter. 

(Tiger has no idea what hell she’s avoided by virtue of not being Harry Potter, and hopefully she will never find out.)

* * *

Teatime with Professor McGonagall and Madame Pince is rejuvenating. After a long summer of adults who ignore or belittle her and adults who have to divide their attention among four sons and one daughter, Tiger loves the one-on-one attention. Professor McGonagall is quite concerned over Tiger’s wellbeing, considering how last year had ended. When Tiger offhandedly mentions that her uncle locked her in her room for half the summer, the Transfiguration professor looks like she’s about to stand up and march to Privet Drive demanding answers. Tiger insists frantically that that’s unnecessary though; this had happened before at primary school, and each time the teachers had been swayed by the Dursleys’ silver tongues and come away disappointed in Tiger. She absolutely doesn’t want Professor McGonagall to turn away from her too. 

With Madame Pince, Tiger discusses the difficulties of getting her transition paperwork signed. The older woman’s eyes narrow in thought, but she only says, “I see,” and doesn’t comment more on the matter. Tiger sighs and mentally cuts off any hope of help from that direction. In her experience, “I see” is adultspeak for “Time to change the topic and forget about this completely.” At least the tea is good, and Madame Pince always has good books to recommend as well as stories about people and places she’s never even heard of.

* * *

Tiger also makes an effort to become actual friends with Draco Malfoy this year. Ginny, within the first week of term, had noticed that Draco follows Tiger with his eyes wherever she goes and asks why. Not wanting to be caught in a lie, Tiger says that he’s a fan of hers, to which Ginny replies, “I thought you hated people just following you and not talking to you? Do you hate him then?”

The girl looks oddly fanatic about this, excited to push her advantage. “No, no!” Tiger hastily replies. “You just haven’t seen us together!” 

The next night, Tiger plonks herself down at the Slytherin table next to Draco. “How are you, Draco?” she asks, vividly aware of the antagonistic vibes emitting off everybody in her vicinity but valiantly ignoring them. 

“I… um… I’m well! Very well!” Draco squeaks. His face is very very red.

“That’s good, that’s very good. I was just thinking that we didn’t spend enough time together. Is it okay if I sit with you tonight?”

“Y-yes! Absolutely!” the blond boy’s eyes are now shining, as if two _Lumos Maxima_ charms have been cast from inside his brain.

“Excellent,” Tiger smiles. “Say, you haven’t gotten any of the carrots yet! Let me help with that.” She reaches across to the serving platter, then plonks a spoonful onto Draco’s waiting plate.

“But he doesn’t like carrots—” Pansy Parkinson interjects.

“Shut your mouth!” Draco hisses. He turns back to Tiger. “Thank you very much, carrots are my favorite!” As if to prove his point, he shovels a large bite into his mouth and immediately retches, spewing half-eaten carrots all over the table.

* * *

Sometimes, when Tiger is walking to and fro, she can hear a quiet voice whispering from the walls. She barely pays it any mind because she has so much to do all the time! Keeping up with her social life and on top of her schoolwork is exhausting, thank you very much.

* * *

It’s Halloween and Tiger has been invited to Nearly Headless Nick’s Deathday party. Actually, the whole of Gryffindor House has been invited. She doesn’t even have time to set the invitation down before Fred and George plop down on either side of her, both throwing an arm around her shoulders casually.

“So, Tigerkit. Seems like you’ve got one of the infamous invitations to Sir Nick’s Deathday party.”

“And seeing as how you kept your word and haven’t told anyone about the, um, _incident_ over the summer, we figured we should—”

“—repay the favor. You see, our humble house ghost hosts this party every few years but fails to mention—”

“—it’s horrifically long and there’s only rotten food—”

“—so our advice to you would be to find something more enjoyable to be done that night.”

“Perhaps some lighthearted tomfoolery at a certain annual feast?”

“There’s a rumor that a band of bones will be performing! The weather will be cloudy with a 50% chance of trolls, given the events of last year.”

“Do with this information what you will, of course.”

“Far be it from us to judge if you want to hang out with a bunch of stuffy ghosts arguing about who gets to join the Swell Spirits Society—”

“—While the pervasive scent of rotten meat tickles your nostrils.”

“Anyway, happy Wednesday!”

Their piece said, the twins stand and scamper off. Tiger stares after them a moment. She had begun to grow accustomed to their abrupt method of communication over the summer, but those exchanges still leave her with a headache. When the world seems to stop spinning, she lifts her fork and prepares to enjoy her breakfast. Then, she notices that the twins had somehow managed to create a small caricature of Professor Snape out of bacon on her plate during their speech. 

_Anyone with such artistic skills probably has good sense_ , Tiger thinks, nibbling a piece of the bacon-hair and conveniently ignoring that these same twins think it’s a good idea to set off fireworks inside classrooms.

She does not go to Sir Nicholas’s Deathday party.

* * *

Late Halloween night will find Tiger on one of the common room couches too full of hearty bread, pumpkin stew, and sparkling purple sugar cookies to move. The feast is _excellent_ , and this time there isn’t even a troll! Tiger will kind of miss the karaoke battle though. When she mentions this to Lavender, the other girl takes the initiative to poll everyone who can hear her (so: half of Gryffindor House plus some of Hufflepuff) to see how many are interested in a rehash of last year’s tournament. 

The first through fourth years, along with various older students, swipe ⅔ of the food off the Gryffindor table and retreat to the common room early. What ensues is a ferocious battle in which Lavender claims first _again_. Tiger is pretty happy with that outcome, having placed second herself, because that means that the only person better than her is the person teaching her.

Later that night, the rest of Gryffindor hurtle through the portrait hole, voices overlapping with excitement as they try to relay the big gossip of the night. After ten minutes of shouting and corrections of corrections to the story, Tiger comes away with the understanding that Mrs. Norris had gotten high off of some student’s inkpot fumes, become bipedal, left a disturbing message on the wall in said red ink, then fallen to the floor and died, her ghostly form immediately rising to roam the halls forevermore as a spirit cat. It all sounds very exciting, at least until Percy Weasley bursts through the portrait hole and announces to all that the story is false and not to believe rumors. 

“The message was actually in _green_ ink!” he declares snootily.

* * *

The next morning, Tiger learns that Mrs. Norris is petrified, not dead, and that the message had read, “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir... beware.”

Tiger had had an understanding with Mrs. Norris. She would give the cat a little dried fish, and the cat wouldn’t scratch her out of nowhere. It wasn’t a friendship, exactly, but Tiger is fairly sure this is not a privilege Mrs. Norris grants often. It’s a sad thing to happen to anyone’s pet, though Tiger is secretly a little relieved at the resulting increase in freedom without Mrs. Norris patrolling the halls.

The whole situation seems very dramatic and mysterious, but Tiger’s a girl who is trying to become a Charms Master, keep up with her voice _and_ bagpipes lessons, attend tea with professors almost every day, train at Quidditch (she’d made the team! Unfortunately, she’s also learned that the others are all way more hardcore than she is about Quidditch, so she doesn’t think she’ll continue after this year), and maintain friendships with friends who are not friends with each other.

Take Draco, for instance. He’s gradually been talking more to her whenever she plops herself down at the Slytherin table. Luckily, he still seems to fear invoking her disapproval because all it takes is a _look_ when he starts saying some nonsense about “Mudbloods” or whatever and the boy quells instantly. Tiger is still waiting to see more of his actual personality, but so far it seems like Draco might actually be a pretty cool kid underneath the starstruckness and what she suspects is his father’s opinions about other people. Tiger knows all about absorbing negativity from the adults in the house: all she has to do is look at Dudley to see the effect. Fortunately, she escaped becoming a horrible person because that would have required any of the Dursleys actually _talking_ to her.

Still, Tiger recognizes that it will take more than just her sitting with Draco to change his mind on the Weasleys or Hermione’s blood status. For that matter, a certain Ron Weasley is not too fond of Draco either. He’s been making snide comments whenever Tiger traipses over to the Slytherin table about betraying Gryffindor or whatnot. Tiger just stares at him whenever he does this because is it wrong to have friends? Especially ones that might help you in the future? She doesn’t verbalize these thoughts because Hermione usually takes the lead on educating Ron about not judging other people based on groups, which conveniently gives Tiger time to walk across the Great Hall. In any case, it’s not like Ron is her keeper. Tiger, like her namesake, does whatever she wants.

(No really, she even has an “I do what I want license”. She asked Dean Thomas to make the card and Colin Creevey to print a picture of her to stick on it, and it just says “TIGER POTTER: I DO WHAT I WANT”.)

* * *

One of the Muggleborn students procures a pamphlet that has numbers made of funny-colored dots and makes Percy read it. Percy reprimands the student for playing pranks because there are _clearly_ no numbers on that page. 

By the end of the evening, Percy is hunched in one of the armchairs clutching his curly hair as Oliver Wood attempts to comfort him (“It doesn’t matter in Quidditch if you can’t tell reds from greens from browns, so you shouldn’t let this bother you!” “Oliver, I don’t play Quidditch, how is this relevant?” “Quidditch is _always_ relevant!”). Fred and George are holding some of their joke products very close to their faces, trying to discern the swirling colors that they had previously thought were all a sneaky, muted brown but that, they had been informed, are clashing, garish reds and greens (everyone had taken this as a sign of the twins’ loud personalities and hadn’t considered that they _wanted_ to be sneaky). Ron is vehemently asserting that _of course_ he knows what Christmas looks like, it’s not like the colors are _invisible_ , and _yes_ he can tell Gryffindors from Slytherins, the Slytherins are inherently slimier.

Both Hermione and Tiger kick him for that.

* * *

“Tiger,” Madame Pince starts, then stops. 

After a long moment, Tiger prompts, “Yes?”

That seems to give Madame Pince the push she needs to continue. “This may be an uncomfortable topic, but I want to be sure you are getting the education you need. If you do not wish to have this discussion with me, I hope that you will seek out Madame Pomfrey.”

Okay, Tiger is starting to get worried. “I trust you with whatever it is,” she replies earnestly. 

Madame Pince blushes a bit, reaching up to fiddle with a rough-textured necklace around her neck, then says, “Has Professor Flitwick spoken to you and your yearmates about the changes your bodies will be undergoing yet?”

Tiger wrinkles her nose. “Yeah. It was all embarrassing and boys do this, girls do that.”

Madame Pince’s eyebrows snap together. “Is that so? And did you find that sort of language helpful?”

“Not really,” Tiger replies. “I mean, I’m a girl, but I _know_ other people thought I was a boy for a while because I have the wrong parts or something.” She grins suddenly. “At least _these_ parts probably won’t make me hurt so badly I pass out while I bleed uncontrollably every month though! Even though that means I’ll never achieve womanhood.” Her mood drops again, and she sighs.

Madame Pince sighs, and Tiger thinks she can hear something like “What in Merlin’s balls are they teaching the children these days” in that breath. Then, she straightens her shoulders, the fingers of one hand tapping restlessly on the palm of her other hand, and asks, “Would it benefit you if I explained in less… gendered terms? You know that your body is a girl’s body because _you_ are a girl, and while Professor Flitwick may have intended his talk for the majority of your classmates, in doing so he excluded your experiences as well as the experiences of anyone who might be transgender like you but has not realized it yet.”

Tiger’s eyes are shining brightly by the end of the longest speech she’s ever heard Madame Pince make. “Would you really do that?”

“Of course, Tiger.”

Madame Pince is the coolest librarian _ever_.

* * *

Colin Creevey. The first human petrified, and now Tiger’s beginning to think that this is all a bit much for a prank. He’d been a bit annoying at first, sure, but Tiger had worked the same charm over him as she had Ginny and then things had been alright. She had been learning how to take pictures on his camera. Tiger thinks of the little brother he’d mentioned, and wonders how his family is coping.

* * *

It’s December and Professor Lockhart has announced the formation of a Dueling Club. Tiger isn’t particularly interested, but Hermione, Ron, Lavender, and Parvati are. The latter two seem to be more excited about the prospect of seeing their current crush though. They won’t tell Tiger who this mutual crush is, instead giggling madly whenever she asks. Her curiosity alone is enough to get Tiger to tag along with the other four as they troop down to the Great Hall. She is determined to observe who has captured her roommates’ attention.

Professor Lockhart says a bunch of things, and then faces Professor Snape on the platform. Tiger honestly doesn’t hear any of what they say because she is waiting for either Lavender or Parvati’s gazes to waver. She _will_ solve this mystery tonight!

Her intense concentration means that Professor Lockhart says her name twice before she responds.

“Huh?” she yelps at Hermione’s elbow nudge. Looking around, she sees how everyone is waiting expectantly for her to come up to the platform. Tiger isn’t sure why she’s being singled out, as Professor Lockhart barely seems to be able to remember anyone’s name other than his own, but she's here now. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Snape intones. It is then that Tiger realizes they’re about to have a duel here. Oh no! She doesn’t know the rules! Curse her inattention!

Draco looks nervous as he stands before her, likely worrying that he’ll hurt his idol. Tiger herself is worried about what spell she should use. She doesn’t really want to hurt Draco either. Also there had definitely been something about bowing? Was it before or after though?

Tiger is so focused on doing exactly as Draco does that she doesn’t notice until the end of her wand spits out a huge snake that she has cast an entirely new spell. Draco’s nervous expression has amplified exponentially, and he looks like he’s about to pee his pants. To be fair, there are now two very large black snakes facing off in the space between them. Tiger’s not the betting type (this is a lie: poker nights in Gryffindor House are every Friday and Tiger takes home the pool half the time because no one can read her), but she would wager that Draco’s a little more afraid of what his spell has done than how it might hurt Tiger. 

The two snakes are eyeing each other carefully, and Tiger’s is slithering around and around Draco’s until he comes up parallel with the other one. 

_“Hey hot sssstuff,”_ Tiger’s conjured snake greets. _”You wanna have a good time?”_

 _”I’m sssure I could be convinced,”_ Draco’s replies. If he had eyelashes, he would surely be batting them. _You ssseem like you know how to treat a sssnake right.”_

_”Most ssscertainly.”_ Here, Tiger’s snake slithers even closer to the other one, aligning their bellies, and—

 _”Flipendo!”_ Tiger cries before they can move another inch. This is _not_ the kind of romance she had wanted to discover tonight, or _ever_ , thank you very much!

The snakes go flying with a hiss of surprise, landing squarely on Professor Lockhart’s chest, who gives his own yelp of surprise and starts shooting off spells randomly. One turns Seamus Finnigan’s hair blue, another lengthens Blaise Zabini’s hair to the floor and also turns it the same blinding gold as Professor Lockhart’s own, and another zings off one of the wall torches and rebounds, disintegrating Colin Creevey’s camera. More and more spectators fall victim to the wild spells, and yet none of the jets of light even graze the two snakes wrapped tightly around Professor Lockhart’s chest, hanging on for dear life. 

Some of the students are trying to get to the source of the problem, sending spells winging toward the snakes. Professor Lockhart, as most wizards who see unknown spells flying towards them, yelps and ducks under them. Hermione is trying to cast what looks like _Petrificus Totalus_ on Professor Lockhart so that he’ll 1) stop turning students’ shoes into goo and 2) so someone can actually _help_ the man. 

Suddenly, a large red blast of light catches Professor Lockhart in the chest, sending him flying backwards into a stunned heap. Before his body can crush the two snakes, their bodies zip out from around him. The snakes scream in terror as they fly tail-first towards the wand of Professor Snape, who neatly Banishes them back to wherever they came from.

“Students,” he intones. “To your beds. Now.” He pauses, surveying the groaning mass of students who have been waylaid by Professor Lockhart’s spell tornado. “Those with an affliction caused by Professor Lockhart’s utter ineptitude, to the Infirmary.”*

Well. That could have gone worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *An alternate line Snape might have said, if he had anything approaching a sense of humor and access to law commercials and memes: “If you or a close one was afflicted with Professor Lockhartoma, you may be entitled to infirmary care.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The latter half of Tiger's second year at Hogwarts

Tiger has found the perfect spot to practice her music. Her room and the Gryffindor common room are just too crowded, and everyone’s a critic (even though Lavender’s is the only critique that Tiger will take to heart). The room appears to be an old classroom, but certainly nobody is using it now, based on the thick layer of dust on everything. The round room and open setup send her voice (and the drone of her bagpipes) echoing around the walls in the most beautiful of ways. She’s definitely no Professor Lockhart, but she could definitely see how someone could grow to love the sound of their own voice.

After an unwelcome discovery of two half-naked sixth years snogging in _her_ practice rooms, Tiger tracks down two tapestries from nearby hallways and carries them over to the door of the classroom with _Wingardium Leviosa_. A few judiciously-placed Sticking Charms later, the door is completely obscured. A couple portraits watch the whole process curiously and ask what she is doing. On hearing that she intends to use the room for music, a couple of them request to be put inside the classroom. Tiger agrees in exchange for the portraits keeping a lookout for snoggy-sixth years from other frames. It’s a win-win situation: the semi-life of a portrait has rather few pleasures, after all, and what greater joy than that of music?

* * *

Hermione will not stop talking about who the Heir of Slytherin might be. Tiger isn’t really invested - it’s probably some seventh year who thinks they’re funny, even though the message they had left on the wall was anything but. Unfortunately, Ron’s curiosity is also piqued, and he’s _also_ decided that _Draco_ must be the Heir of Slytherin. Tiger isn’t sure how he thinks someone who swoons into his potatoes could in any way be harmful, but Ron is nothing if not stubborn in his opinion on Slytherins, particularly Malfoys. His belief is strong enough that even Neville begins to believe them. 

“I mean, maybe not Malfoy,” he hedges. “But the Heir of Slytherin is definitely a Slytherin, right? And maybe the Chamber of Secrets has some plants that no one has seen in a thousand years! Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Neville’s eyes are shining by the end of his speech, dazzled by the possibility of dank ferns or whatever else might be growing in a chamber that no one has tended to since Salazar Slytherin himself was around. Tiger makes a vague agreeing noise despite her opinion on the matter because she doesn’t really want to be involved. What part of _”Enemies of the heir, beware”_ do her friends not understand? Last she checked, “beware” meant “be wary” and not “try to catch the attention of whoever said this”.

* * *

Justin Finch-Fletchley _and_ Nearly Headless Nick. Tiger wasn’t close to either of them, but that doesn’t lessen the weight of dread in her belly. Tiger no longer feels that this is all just a prank, and she’s beginning to feel legitimately scared.

* * *

Tiger, of course, stays at Hogwarts over the Christmas Holidays. Surprisingly, so does Hermione. Tiger had been excited to have a friend other than Ron to spend time with this year, until Hermione mentions that she’s planning to use the break to brew a potion that will get her, Ron, and Neville into the Slytherin common room so they can investigate. Ron is convinced that Draco is to blame for the attacks. Huffily, Tiger heads to the library so she can talk to someone _sensible_. 

Madame Pince is putting on her cloak when Tiger arrives, the one Tiger has always envied because of how very large and soft it looks. Like her namesake, Tiger has a soft spot for cozy things. 

“Hello Tiger,” Madame Pince greets. “Did you want tea?”

“And conversation, if you have any,” Tiger replies politely. 

“I’m headed out right now, actually. I suspect I won’t be back until tomorrow evening, so come back then. I may even have something special for you.” 

“Really?” Tiger squeals.

“Shh!” Madame Pince hisses reflexively. She visibly forces herself to relax, then gives a small smile. “Tomorrow, Tiger. Now I really do have to be on my way, but I look forward to your company soon.”

Just then, a most unexpected Professor McGonagall pokes her head in. “Irma? Are you ready?” She catches sight of Tiger and does a double take. “Oh hello, Tiger. Were you stopping by for tea? I’m afraid the two of us have business outside the castle.”

“Th-that’s alright,” Tiger mumbles, dazed. On one hand, of course she knows that Professor McGonagall and Madame Pince know each other. They work in the same school, how could they not? But she has never considered that they might spend time with each other. This is like finding out that teachers in her primary school have homes and don’t sleep at school. Wait, do _Hogwarts_ professors have homes?

She is broken out of her reverie by Madame Pince gently guiding her out of the room. 

“Don’t worry, Tiger,” Professor McGonagall says. “We’ll be back by tomorrow.”

“Have a good trip,” she says faintly, watching the librarian and Transfiguration professor step gracefully out of the library.

* * *

With nothing else to do, Tiger wanders the halls aimlessly. She doesn’t feel like going to her music room, and she _definitely_ doesn’t want to go back to the common room, so wandering seems as good a plan as any.

Mind skipping gently from topic to topic, it takes her a while to realize that the stone floors of Hogwarts do not normally turn her footsteps into splishy sounds. She looks up, realizing that she is outside of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. There’s water flooding out from under the door, forming a small river that is soaking through Tiger’s shoes. She debates whether she wants to deal with this, but lack of any better idea has her wading into the bathroom, where she finds Myrtle wailing on a toilet seat.

“What’s wrong?” Tiger asks.

“Wrong? Oh, only absolutely _everything_ , thanks very much!” Myrtle sobs. “I’m _dead_ , which is absolutely _horrid_ because I never got to stop having acne, and all the other ghosts are too old and _boring_ , and then someone came and threw a _book_ at me!”

Tiger thinks before responding, not wanting to upset the ghost even more. “That’s all awful, and you don’t deserve that,” she comforts. “Why would someone throw a book at you?”

 _”I don’t know!”_ Myrtle roars. “But it was nasty, and I can’t even pick up the book to get rid of it! But I don’t have anything else to do and no one wants to spend time with me so I suppose I might as well keep staring at this horrible, awful, dreadful book!”

“Hey, hey!” Tiger says hastily. “Don’t worry, I’ll move it out of here for you. And if you’d like company or something to do, maybe you’d like to come with me to my music room? You can be my audience, or if you want, you can learn to sing with me.”

“...Do you mean it?” Myrtle asks hopefully. For the first time, her ghostly eyes appear tear-free. 

“Of course. Though sometimes I don’t want an audience, so you’d have to ask first. Want me to show you the way now?”

“Okay.”

* * *

Tiger spends that evening and the next day in the practice room. Despite not particularly wanting to practice, Tiger is pretty sure that if the one thing Myrtle has to look forward to is taken away, the whole castle would be flooded by tomorrow.

It turns out that Myrtle has all kinds of interesting stories, though. Tiger learns all the embarrassing gossip about Myrtle’s yearmates that she had never been able to tell anyone. Her yearmates had long graduated by the time Myrtle’s spirit had coalesced into her full ghost form, and she had awakened to her life after death in a school filled with new faces. None of her old friends had ever come by to visit, probably because they had no way of knowing that she had returned. It was all horribly depressing, and Tiger could easily see why she succumbed to crying in a bathroom every day for years and years and years. 

Telling stories seems to give Myrtle more energy, though. Tiger Conjures a cushion after the first few tales and settles in. Occasionally, she chimes in with stories of her own, but largely she just listens. Aside from making Myrtle feel better with a bit of girl talk, Tiger is willing to bet that at least some of Myrtle’s classmates are Masters or in the Ministry or Wizengamot. If Tiger wants to achieve her goal, it might help to know some background on people who could help her.**

* * *

Tiger drops by Madame Pince’s office two days later at teatime. The librarian gives her a rare smile and gestures at the open chair in front of her desk. 

When the two of them have settled in with a cup of Madame Pince’s _excellent_ blueberry green tea and shortbread biscuits, Tiger ventures, “What were you and Professor McGonagall doing together?”

Madame Pince’s face reddens and she chokes on her tea for some reason. When she stops coughing, she glances at Tiger. “I— what? When?”

“Um, I saw you?” Tiger responds. Madame Pince’s face gets even redder, and she starts rubbing fiercely at her textured pendant necklace. “Two days ago, as you were leaving the library?”

“Oh.” Madame Pince visibly relaxes. “Yes, two days ago. Not yesterday, but two days ago. Ahem.” Tiger looks at her strangely, but Madame Pince plows on. “Tiger, Min—Professor McGonagall and I were able to secure permission from your relatives to start you on pubertal blockers and, if you so desire, gender transition treatments.”

 _”What?!”_ Tiger yelps. “How did you manage to do that? The Dursleys wouldn’t even have let you in the door! They hate magic!”

“Be that as it may, can you really imagine anyone stopping Professor McGonagall from a cause she believes in? Or myself, for that matter?”

“But why would you or she do that? It’s Christmastime, and it’s a huge pain to get out there, and—”

“Tiger,” Madame Pince interrupts gently. “The cause that both Professor McGonagall and I believe in is _you_.”

Tiger’s mouth drops open and hangs there for a moment. Then, she reaches across the desk to squeeze Madame Pince’s hand and whispers, “Thank you.”

Madame Pince returns the squeeze and doesn’t let go. 

After a while, Tiger retracts her hand so she can eat a biscuit. “How did this come up anyway? I’ve never seen you or Professor McGonagall talk to each other before. I never knew you were friends!” 

Madame Pince blushes again at the word ‘friend’, but she recovers more quickly this time. “Professor McGonagall approached me with some concerns about your home life, wanting to know if I suspected the same thing. I told her that I shared her suspicions, and I am sorry that we did not discuss with you, but we wanted to see what could be done before starting anything drastic. Unfortunately, the answer is very minimal. You are legally bound to live with the Dursleys at the behest of your magical guardian, and neither I nor Professor McGonagall can raise a fuss due to our relative distance from your bloodline.”

“The Dursleys are awful though! And who is this magical guardian anyway?”

The librarian huffs in annoyance. “We had suspected, of course, but you have just confirmed a suspicion that she and I both shared. Namely, that your magical guardian did not watch over you as promised.”

“I’ll say. I never even knew about magic until Hagrid came by on my eleventh birthday.”

 _”Is that so.”_ Madame Pince’s face is as stone as a statue now. “I shall relay that to Minerva, with your permission?”

“Sure, yeah. Anyway, who is my magical guardian?”

“Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.”

* * *

Tiger had already made up her mind last year that the headmaster is a bit of a shady character, but this tips him firmly into her list of enemies. There is no one else on this list.

Even at the tender age of twelve, she knows that going up to his office to yell at him will have less than satisfying results. Tiger still clearly recalls the events of last year, after all. The headmaster has an infuriating ability to hear absolutely nothing aside from what he wants to and make it feel as if Tiger is in the wrong for feeling annoyed about it. 

No, this calls for the long game. Revenge is a dish best served chilled, after all.

(Sometimes, Lavender says that Tiger has quite a few Slytherin traits. That’s usually followed by a string of horoscope predictions form _Witch Weekly_ that Tiger lets flow in one ear and out the other. The bit about Slytherin sticks in her head though. The Sorting Hat didn’t make a mistake, did it? She does belong in Gryffindor, the house of her mum, right?)

* * *

Penelope Clearwater. Tiger had always liked her. Sometimes she would let Tiger slip by if it was just a few minutes after curfew and she was heading back to the common room anyway.

* * *

Tiger only finds out about the extent of the Polyjuice Potion plot the day after it all goes down. She can’t quite believe the chaos that Hermione, Neville, and Ron could get up to, except the proof is there for all to see.

Hermione is now hidden away in the Hospital Wing, half cat, for several weeks.

Ron and Neville had managed to gather that Draco knew nothing at all about the Heir of Slytherin (as Tiger had said from the beginning), though he had mentioned something his father had written. Apparently, the Chamber had been opened just once before, 50 years ago. Someone had died, someone else had been expelled, and then no one spoke of the matter anymore. Then Ron had put his foot in it and been kicked out of the Slytherin common room immediately. So had Neville, for that matter, but he didn’t seem to mind much, having been able to identify some of the plants visible through the windows to the lake.

“Professor Sprout never said anything about there being Nautical Nasturtiums _right here in the Great Lake_ ,” Neville reports, scandalized. “I kind of feel betrayed, to be honest.”

“She probably didn’t know about them,” Tiger soothes. “You saw them from the Slytherin common room, and she’s Head of Hufflepuff.”

Neville lets out a gusty sigh. “I suppose you’re right,” he allows, moving his bishop two spaces. Ron crows in delight, but neither Tiger nor Neville pay him any mind. Anyone who plays Ron at chess goes into it knowing they’re going to lose. Tiger usually sets a ridiculous goal like “get the king to the other side and back” rather than actually trying to win. It’s actually a somewhat successful strategy because of how completely unpredictable her moves are. Of course, “successful” against Ron means “takes longer for Ron to win which he inevitably will”. 

“Have you thought about diving to go get them?”

“Tiger, are you crazy? No one dives into the Great Lake. There’s grindylows and a Giant Squid in there!”

* * *

Sometimes, in her practice room, Tiger thinks she hears a voice besides the various ghosts and portraits that gather to listen to her. In the breaks between songs it begs for more music, then laments how very hungry it is and how it must eat, even though it doesn’t want to. Tiger responds with appropriately sympathetic noises and secretly considers the cruelty of a ghost dying hungry.

* * *

Perhaps Tiger could be forgiven for not noticing. She certainly won’t forgive herself easily, but maybe someone else would.

How does one cope with knowing they have let down a friend?

Ginny didn’t even come to her on purpose. Instead, Tiger finds her digging through Hermione’s trunk, eyes unfocused yet intent on her task.

“What are you doing?” Tiger asks. Not accusing, not yelling. Casually, because there is clearly something wrong and screaming has never helped anyone. 

(Aunt Petunia could stand to learn a couple things from Tiger.)

Ginny jerks back in shame. “I, I—” Her mouth opens and closes several times, then she turns as if to run away.

Tiger moves to block the door. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to, but you have to tell me what you were doing.”

To Tiger’s chagrin, fat tears begin to well up in Ginny’s eyes. 

The story takes two full hours to come out, and by the end of it Tiger is incensed at herself. Ginny had been so lonely that she had been writing to a Charmed object instead of the dozens of kids in Gryffindor, not to mention all the students outside of this house. And then she had also been having very frightening experiences, waking up outside among dead chickens with blood on her hands and not knowing where it had come from. Her discomfort with her classmates had kept her from saying anything to anyone, and she continued writing in the diary despite her growing feelings of apprehension about it. Every time she had mentioned the Chamber of Secrets everyone was talking about, the Charmed voice of the diary was oddly fanatic, stressing how it was a _good_ thing that the Chamber was being opened. Ginny had just begun her magical education, but she felt that statement strike a chord of wrongness against her psyche. The feeling of wrongness eventually overpowered her loneliness, and she got rid of the diary sometime around Christmas. Her brain couldn’t stop thinking of it though, which has led her to searching through trunks trying to find that diary again.

Tiger’s distress must be showing on her face because Ginny is quick to assure, “It’s not your fault, I’m fine now!”

“That’s not the point!” Tiger cries. “I was the one who said we were friends, but clearly I wasn’t a good friend to you because you were lonely enough to write to a talking diary rather than me or your brothers or _anyone!_ I feel really bad about that!” 

A short silence ensues. Tiger and Ginny are both staring at each other, the former breathing heavily while the latter has been shocked into silence at Tiger’s outburst. Tiger rarely _ever_ yells. It’s one of the two things everyone knows about her (the other being that she has an “I do what I want license”).

Ginny speaks first. “I… it’s okay. I accept your apology.”

Some of the shame in Tiger’s heart clears. “I’ll do my best to make it up to you.” Then, her mind starts ticking through the details of Ginny’s story. “How did you know that the diary was in here?”

“It was just a feeling I had…” Ginny trails off. “Wait, that’s not normal, is it? Is something wrong with me?”

Tiger is already striding over to her trunk and removing the mysterious black book she’d picked up from Myrtle’s bathroom. “Is this the one?” 

“Yes, that’s it!” Ginny doesn’t leap forward to grab it, but based on the look in her eyes it’s a near thing. “I can feel it calling for me… I feel like I need to take it and I don’t know why… wait, where are you taking me?”

Tiger doesn’t stop pulling Ginny down the stairs and through the common room. “We’re going to Professor McGonagall.”

* * *

They arrive at Professor McGonagall’s office in time to hear her reprimanding Professor Lockhart. “... _standards_ in Hogwarts because this is a place of _learning_ , so no, _Professor_ Lockhart, this final exam is completely unacceptable. These questions all pertain to your personal life rather than the _learning objectives_ which were clearly outlined in your hiring packet—oh hello, Tiger, this is not a very good time.”

“It’s kind of an emergency, Professor,” Tiger says apologetically. She raises both her hands, one holding the diary and the other clamped firmly around Ginny’s wrist. “This apparently has something to do with the petrifications.”

Professor McGonagall’s eyes shoot up into her hairline (Tiger can’t help but compare their success to Draco’s eyebrows, which are left high and dry when he tries to do the same action). “Do have a seat, Ms. Potter, Ms. Weasley.”

Professor Lockhart hastily scrambles to his feet and backs away from the chairs so that Tiger and Ginny can sit. He doesn’t leave the room, though, opting instead to hover by the door. Tiger can see why: who wouldn’t want to find out more about the biggest school mystery this year?

Tiger sets the diary on the desk and, together with Ginny, the two relay Ginny’s experiences. It’s clear that Ginny is more than a little intimidated by Professor McGonagall, but Tiger’s support helps her get her story out. By the end of it, Professor McGonagall is pale and tense. 

She calmly asks some followup questions, and then she stands. “I will need to consult with the rest of the faculty on the proper course of action. If what you say is true, this diary may be the key to the Chamber of Secrets, and it may be located near the bathroom where Myrtle resides. You both have done a very brave thing by coming to me with this knowledge. Fifty points to Gryffindor.”

Ginny is stunned; she probably hasn’t ever earned that many points, if she’s been as shy in classes as she’s been in person. Tiger gives her an encouraging smile, then asks, “May we go back to Gryffindor house now?”

The three of them leave, having forgotten Professor Lockhart in the corner of the room. None of them see the oddly contemplative look on his face as he regards the diary on the desk.

* * *

_Hermione._ Somehow, Tiger had never truly thought the petrification would happen to one of her closest friends. She, Ron, and Neville sit by Hermione’s bedside in the Hospital Wing, holding her hands tightly. Hermione is so still. She should never be so still. 

Tiger clutches Hermione’s hand harder, and that’s when she hears it: a slight crinkle of parchment. The three of them manage to pry open Hermione’s tight grip and find the slip that tells them all they need to know about Slytherin’s monster.

* * *

Ron and Neville are going to Professor McGonagall to tell her what Hermione discovered. Tiger is on her way to the library to talk to Madame Pince when Professor Lockhart waylays her. “Ah, just the person I was looking for!” He grabs her elbow and begins striding down the hall. “Do come along, please, it’s not every day that the great Gilderoy Lockhart requires assistance!”

Tiger is so confused that she finds herself standing outside Myrtle’s bathroom before she finds her voice. “Professor Lockhart? What do you need me for?”

“Now now, no time for questions.” He ushers her into the restroom. 

Tiger begins to protest more fiercely. “Professor, this is a _girls’_ bathroom!” 

“Never mind that.”

Tiger stops dead at the change in his voice. His showy way of speaking has completely evaporated, leaving behind a threatening, hard-edged tone. When she looks up, she sees that in addition to the hand gripping her elbow, his wand is pointed directly at her head.

“Now, I understood enough yesterday to know that this place is the key to my next book, Battling with Beasts, featuring the Hogwarts Hero! That’s me, you know. And _you_ are going to help me.”

“I… what?”

“You must have thought you were so clever, hiding that you were Harry Potter under that false name. No matter, though, I learned from the Headmaster who you really are. I’m sure your Dark Lord-defeating powers will come in handy banishing whatever sort of beast lies in the Chamber of Secrets, and then _I_ will become ever richer and more famous.”

 _Who I_ really _am is Tiger!_ she shouts mentally (but not vocally, because that’s a sentiment for Headmaster Dumblejerk and also she’s kind of _really scared right now_ ). 

“Now, you have two choices. Either we can go the easy route and you help me willingly to find the chamber and slay the beast, and I’ll even give you a 10% cut of my first month of book sales, or you could go the unwise route and struggle but end up helping me anyway.” He swishes his wand meaningfully. Tiger receives the message loud and clear. “So which will you choose?”

Well, when he puts it that way, there’s really only one option. At least the first option will allow her to face the basilisk below without being hurt beforehand.

* * *

An hour later, Lockhart’s frustration is beginning to make itself known in little sparks popping at the hems of his clothing. “Where is it! How could a first-year girl possibly manage to find the entrance to this Chamber and yet neither _I_ nor the Savior of the Wizarding World can!”

As Lockhart advances on her, Tiger backs up into a sink and turns her head to the side, covering her face with her arms. A small part of her mind that is detached and thinking about literally anything besides the angry man advancing on her notes the small carving of a snake on the side of the sink. It’s a cute depiction. 

“Why aren’t you doing more? Anyone who could defeat You-Know-Who and has _my_ caliber of fame should be able to do better than this!”

Tiger has a lot of experience with this brand of angry adult, and she knows how to protect herself even the smallest bit. That same detached part of her mind is still noticing the snake, idly wondering what ever happened to the snakes she and Draco had conjured. 

“If you don’t put some effort in, you are going to _regret_ it.” Lockhart says this last bit softly, dangerously, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand as it’s pointed directly at Tiger’s face. 

_No!_ Tiger cries. 

Except it comes out like a hiss, and the sink with the snake carving shifts a bit. 

“What was that? Do it again. You did something, maybe we’re finally getting somewhere. Tell it to open! Tell it to admit Gilderoy Lockhart, soon to be the Wizarding World’s first billionaire!”

Tiger isn’t exactly sure what just happened, but it happened as she was staring at the little snake so she tries, _Open._ And then, because he’s kind of a jerk and Tiger’s maybe a little petty, she adds, _But don’t open for Gilderoy Lockhart because he’s a giant piece of dung._

For some reason, Lockhart doesn’t hurt her for insulting him, and she swears that the snake winks at her. There’s no time to ponder though because the sink is sliding back to reveal a deep, dark tunnel. Lockhart begins laughing maniacally, and then he stops short. “Saviors first, heroes second,” he singsongs.

And then he pushes Tiger into the tunnel. 

Tiger only screams for a second, and then realizes that she doesn’t want to draw Lockhart’s ire. She’s not quite sure what she’s going to do. There’s no way Tiger Potter, second year Gryffindor with an excellent grasp on Charms but average in every other subject, is prepared to face a giant basilisk that’s going around killing people. Although, she reflects, it’s a little odd that the snake wants to kill people. Those two snakes from the Dueling Club had certainly wanted something besides murder. Maybe a basilisk would want the same?

All too soon, the dusty tunnel slide comes to an end and Tiger is thrown onto an even dustier stone floor. She scrambles to her feet and runs to the wall without casting a _Lumos_ , hoping that if he can’t see her, Lockhart will leave her alone. Holding tight to her wand, Tiger crouches behind some stone rubble and hopes she won’t be seen. 

A second later, she hears Lockhart’s voice swearing as he tumbles down the tunnel. Tiger isn’t sure how he’s managed to experience a slide as a rocky path, but maybe he’ll be so battered by the ride that he’ll give up and leave her alone.

(Unbeknownst to Tiger, Gilderoy Lockhart had spent the past two minutes attacking a barrier that had mysteriously erected itself over the tunnel entrance. If she had been there as the shield fell, she might have heard a small hissing voice apologize for not being able to hold the Piece of Dung off longer, but promising to aid a Speaker as much as a little sink snake could.)

Lockhart comes flying out of the tunnel and lands on the floor with a sickening thud. A second later, he’s on his feet shouting, _”Lumos maxima!”_

The light flickers for several seconds before flooding the chamber. Tiger shudders with dread, knowing that she’s caught.

* * *

They are standing before a wall of stone snakes. Lockhart’s hair is in disarray and his clothing is stained and torn at the edges, but the most disturbing thing is the look in his eyes. He seems almost crazed with single-minded purpose, and Tiger can’t understand it. Shouldn’t someone have noticed if he was always like this? Was he so good at performing his persona that no one saw this true self of his hiding underneath it? 

“The world will love me even more now that I’ve found something no one else has. The Chamber of Secrets, secret no more! Hmm, that’s kind of catchy. Maybe I’ll have to rethink my title.” Lockhart reaches into his robe and pulls out a familiar diary. “And here is the key!”

He flourishes the diary dramatically. The door does not budge.

Frowning a little, Lockhart waves the book around some more. Still, nothing.

He begins whacking the door with the book, slapping the huge stone slabs with the front, the back, then the front of the floppy little journal again and again. “The key! This! Is! The! Key! That barmy old bat said so, so open _up_ , you— _ah!”_

Swirling white _something_ is spraying from the diary, hissing as it flows out of the book and into Lockhart’s eyes, nose, and mouth. Tiger watches in horror, unable to move an inch for the minute it lasts. Then, the mist dissipates, and Lockhart’s body collapses in on itself. 

He abruptly straightens, and there’s a different look in his eyes now, no less filled with single-minded purpose, but more… sinister now. 

_Open,_ Lockhart says. And the doors creak inwards to allow them entrance.

As he drags her into the Chamber by her wrist, Lockhart mutters to himself, “Hmm, this is even better than before. There’s plenty corruptible here. It’s so much easier to work _with_ someone instead of having to spend all that time pretending to be _best friends_ with little Ginny. I can already feel the bond settling into place. It’s nice to see that _someone_ recognizes a true master when he sees one.” He sneers at this, then turns to Tiger. “And who are you, then?”

“You know Ginny?” Tiger whispers, the first words she’s spoken since Lockhart kidnapped her. 

“I didn’t ask you for questions,” Lockhart snaps. “I asked who you _are_.” He gestures at her with his wand whippily, the tip bending slightly to touch the tip of Tiger’s nose. 

“My name is Tiger!” she squeaks. “And who are you?”

“Oh, you mean you don’t think I’m Gilderoy Lockhart, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts?” he chuckles heartily. “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?”

Mist begins to flow out of Not-Lockhart’s (Not-hart’s?) wand, forming letters. “My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, as you see here. But based on what Ginny told me, that’s not what people know me by anymore. And good riddance to that despicable name.”

Tiger’s eyes grow in horror as the letters rearrange themselves to read _I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_. “You— but— he’s dead!”

“Indeed? Then how is it that I stand before you?” He twirls the wand in his hands, then catches it. “From what I understand, I have _you_ to thank for that misconception. You, who had the audacity to kill the greatest Dark Lord who has ever lived. Such impudence can only be met with the greatest of punishments.” As he speaks, Lockhartmort (or should it be Voldehart? Tiger’s not sure) is advancing on Tiger. She’s backing up as much as she can, but when she feels her back hit the wall, she knows it’s over. 

Voldehart is brandishing the wand at her now, and the tip is right in her face. “It’s time for you to learn the most basic of lessons about the new world I will craft again: Lord Voldemort will _never_ die! _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

* * *

If Tiger thinks back, she might be able to recall the sound of wood cracking and splintering as Lockhart tumbled down the tunnel. It had escaped her at the time, but the consequences of Lockhart’s wand, nine inches of cherry wood with a dragon heartstring core, fracturing in several places are very evident.

Tiger remembers this part in slow motion. A green light, beautifully, sickly green, coming to life at the end of the wand. But instead of shooting out to take out its effects on her, the light pulses once, twice, then travels back _up_ the wand and fires out the handle, hitting Lockhartmort square in the chest. At the same time, an unearthly scream rises from the diary in the chest pocket of his robes.

Voldemort drops to the floor, unmoving, and time returns to its normal speed.

* * *

Tiger doesn’t know how long she sits on the floor of the Chamber in shock, head buried in her arms, accompanied by Voldehart who seems very dead and a diary that is probably evil. She lacks the words to describe the rollercoaster of emotion this afternoon has been. And it’s not even _dinnertime!_ How is she supposed to cope with this?!

Overcome with emotion yet unable to cry, the first note escapes almost without her noticing. It’s a familiar tune, one of her favorites in the Nymphs of Neverland discography. The song sounds like a soothing lullaby sung by a ferocious mother protecting her children, and it never fails to comfort Tiger when she’s feeling lonely or scared. 

Gaining momentum, Tiger begins to sing. The words echo around the vast Chamber, amplifying that feeling of love and shelter. Each note sounds like a clear bell in the excellent acoustics of the room, and the beauty of it all brings Tiger to her feet, clapping and stomping when the drums are supposed to solo. 

She finishes the song with dramatic flourish, both arms spread wide and head thrown back, projecting her voice for the sheer joy of _feeling_ it reverberate around the Chamber. As the echo begins to fade, the mouth on the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin slides open and a snake bigger than Tiger could ever imagine slithers out and begins to wind around her.

Tiger yelps and shuts her eyes, but she’s already gotten a direct look at the killing gaze. After a breath, she wiggles her fingers and, yup, seems like she’s still alive. That doesn’t mean much, though, because she’s still surrounded by 50 feet of basilisk.

_Speaker, why have you stopped?_

Tiger takes a moment to gather her thoughts. _If I open my eyes, will I die?_

 _No, child. I have covered my eyes so you may look upon me freely._

Cautiously, Tiger opens her eyes and yes, the giant snake that had petrified six Hogwarts residents is telling the truth. _How are you so big?_ she wonders aloud.

 _I might inquire how you are so small,_ the basilisk replies playfully. _Now, I ask again, why did you stop making such wonderful noises?_

 _What do you mean?_ Tiger asks.

 _Just before I came out,_ the basilisk responds. _I have heard you before, when I was moving through the pipes while under that despicable spell the other Speaker cast on me. You are beautiful._

Tiger blushes a little. _Well… thank you. And I stopped because you surprised me. But can you tell me more about the other Speaker?_

The basilisk glances scornfully (or as scornful as a snake can look) at where Lockhartmort is still laid out on the floor. _I can feel the dregs of that cursed magic from the body lying there. But it was not always this body. Before that, the magic was possessing a young girl, one just like you._

 _Ginny,_ Tiger whispers.

_I do not know what name you humans call yourselves. I do not even know the name of the cursed Speaker who cast the spell that bound my will to his. I know only that he came once before, long ago, and used me to send a girl to her death. I never wanted to do it, but he made me! My purpose is to guard the students of the school, and that cursed Speaker forced me to betray my duty and all that my master Salazar ever stood for!_

The raw emotion in the basilisk’s voice carries clearly despite the sibilance. Tiger doesn’t know what she can say to help ease the pain until she remembers what had made the basilisk emerge in the first place. 

Hesitantly, because this is an enormous snake, Tiger lays a comforting hand on the basilisk and begins to sing once more.

* * *

In the end, Tiger’s adventure for the day extends beyond dinnertime. The basilisk asks her to keep singing for half an hour, and then Tiger has to stop to rest her voice. She explains that her teacher, Lavender, very strictly insists that Tiger is not to overstrain her throat. The basilisk asks more about this other student who can produce such wonderful sounds, and one topic leads to another such that Tiger finds herself spending an evening in conversation with a basilisk. Tiger begins to think that the “Secrets” in “Chamber of Secrets” may refer to the sheer amount of gossip and castle ins-and-outs that the snake knows. A thousand years is a lot of time to collect knowledge.

Halfway in, she realizes that she still hasn’t asked her new friend’s name, which is how she learns that most snakes don’t have names. Salazar himself hadn’t even thought to give one to his basilisk, opting to just say “Hey you” in snakespeak. Which means…

 _So, can_ I _give you a name?_ Tiger cries excitedly. 

_I suppose, if you would like to, Little One,_ the basilisk replies slowly.

 _I really would!_ Tiger enthuses. _Hmm… are you male or female or something else?_

_I do not understand those words._

_Er,_ Tiger hedges. _Do you lay eggs or not?_

 _No basilisks lay eggs. A basilisk is born from a chicken’s egg hatched under a toad,_ the snake harrumphs.

 _Oh, right. Hmm, let’s say agender then. Now we can… what was I doing again? Oh yeah, names!_

The next ten minutes are spent brainstorming, at least on Tiger’s part. She runs through a list of nature words, but none of them stick. Eventually, Tiger decides to base the name on something that describes the basilisk.

So it is that Salazar Slytherin’s 1000-year old basilisk is now dubbed Coil. 

Safe in Coil’s coils, Tiger is content to pass the time listening to and telling stories of students and castle goings-on. Coil agrees that something is off about Headmaster Dumbledore and he should be eaten (Tiger thinks that perhaps the latter is just the basilisk way of being supportive, but just to be sure she advises that killing a headmaster or anyone will probably get Coil killed). 

Eventually, Tiger’s belly begins to growl, and she realizes just how much time has passed and also is brought to the sudden realization that while she’d been making friends with a basilisk, Professor Lockhartmort is still in the Chamber, probably dead. Coil offers her a ride to the kitchens, which she gratefully accepts. As an afterthought, the basilisk also declares they will move the body up to the bathroom at the top of the Chamber. No sense in dirtying their own home.

* * *

Tiger has almost forgotten about the strange elf named Dobby who had tried to stop Harry Potter from going to school over the summer. The sea of large, staring eyes that is regarding her with confusion in the kitchens brings those memories surging back.

 _I guess house elves are how all the housework gets done at Hogwarts,_ Tiger thinks. 

They are insistent on feeding her, especially when she mentions that she has missed dinner. Tiger figures it’s probably after curfew anyway, so the time it takes to eat a couple sandwiches and down an entire jug of pumpkin juice won’t affect much anyway.

* * *

What Tiger had thought would be a simple explanation to Professor McGonagall followed by being sent to bed turns into a faculty-wide expedition to Myrtle’s bathroom led by one Tiger Lily Potter. Apparently Ron and Neville asserting that the monster attacking people was a basilisk combined with Tiger’s subsequent disappearance was enough to spur the castle into a lockdown while the faculty debated what to do. Needless to say, her sudden arrival caused quite a disturbance in their plans.

Tiger absolutely does not want to see the body again, so she stands outside the bathroom while the professors go in and make exclamations of surprise and confusion. After a while, Myrtle appears next to her.

“Are you okay, Tiger?” the ghost asks.

“I guess,” Tiger mutters. It’s not really true: being here is bringing back very unpleasant memories, and she would much rather be away. 

“I’m just glad it won’t just be me who’s known for dying in this bathroom,” Myrtle muses. “Maybe now they’ll call it Lockhart’s bathroom?”

Tiger shudders in disgust. “I really, really hope they don’t.”

Myrtle immediately notices the change in Tiger’s demeanor. “You _really_ don’t look so good, Tiger.” She chews her lip for a second, then adds, “Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“What?” Tiger asks, but the air is already absent of any ghosts.

She has already resigned herself to sitting on the floor feeling ill while the professors are arguing what should be done when she hears brisk, light footsteps striding down the hall. A moment later, Madame Pince comes into view, led by Myrtle. The instant Madame Pince catches sight of Tiger, she breaks into a quick trot, and Myrtle whisks herself away through a wall. 

Madame Pince reaches Tiger a second later and kneels down to scoop Tiger into her arms and squeezes her tightly with a force that Tiger returns. It’s probably the best hug she’s ever gotten, and that’s including Mrs. Weasley’s famous hugs. In the middle of it, though, she remembers something important.

“But Madame Pince, I thought you didn’t like hugs? You said that you were uncomfortable with people touching you,” Tiger protests, trying to pull out of the librarian’s arms.

“That is true for most people,” Madame Pince replies, calmly refusing to budge her arms one bit. “However, among people I care very much about, especially those who have had a very bad day, I find that a hug every once in a while is not only appreciated but necessary.” She gives one more good, long squeeze, and then pulls away. “I will let Minerva know of your whereabouts.”

“Aren’t my whereabouts right here?” Tiger asks, confused. 

“Not anymore,” Madame Pince responds. She holds out her hand, and Tiger places her hand inside and finds herself tugged to her feet. “Myrtle woke me and informed me of what happened tonight, but I want to hear in your own words how you are faring. Where would you like to go?”

“I… you don’t have to do that, Madame Pince! I wasn’t hurt at all, except for a bruise when I fell out of the tunnel.”

“Your mental wellness is what concerns me at the moment,” Madame Pince comments. “Do… would you rather spend the night in your dormitory?”

Tiger thinks of the many students who will pester her for details and clutches Madame Pince’s hand more tightly. “No, not really.”

“If you wish, you are welcome to spend the evening in my quarters. I can ask the elves to set up another bed for you. That way I will be easily available if you need me or want to talk at any moment.”

“That would be nice,” Tiger admits. 

Not for the first time, she thinks to herself that Madame Pince would be a pretty good mom.

* * *

There’s a bland announcement at breakfast the next morning that Professor Lockhart had succumbed to an evil artifact and would no longer be teaching. Since classes have finished anyway and the exams are proctored by Ministry officials, no one particularly minds (though there is a significant portion of the student body that sighs wistfully at no longer getting to see his face. Parvati and Lavender are among them, and Tiger finally realizes who their crush from the Duelling Club was.).

Professor McGonagall pulls Tiger aside after the meal and personally apologizes for making Tiger revisit the site of her trauma so soon after escaping. Tiger assures her that it’s alright, but Professor McGonagall promises to make it up to her anyway.

* * *

The next day, Professor Sprout and Professor Snape stand at breakfast and announce that the Mandrake Draught is complete. Ernie Macmillan, Percy, and Tiger are all on their feet ready to sprint to the Hospital Wing, but Professor Sprout quickly adds that recovery will probably take at least two days. They all sit back down, but there’s a kind of nervous energy in the air that won’t dissipate until everyone can see the petrified students walking around again.

* * *

Professor McGonagall comes to fetch Tiger, Ron, and Neville personally when Hermione wakes up. There’s a lot of hugs and maybe some tears, and then Hermione asks what date it is and becomes _very stressed_ about the exams. Ron tries to comfort Hermione, to limited success (“They’re not that close, they start in three days!” “Ronald, some of these exams are _cumulative_. You can’t just start studying two days before!” “You’d already learned all of the books by late February!” “...Okay, fair point. But what if I’ve _forgotten_ since late February?!” “... this comforting thing is harder than I thought.”)

* * *

Tiger finds Draco on the Hogwarts Express again this year, but this time she has a different agenda. Lockhart’s betrayal had shaken something in her, and Tiger doesn’t want to have any friendships under false pretenses anymore. 

At Draco’s nod, Pansy, Blaise, Greg and Vincent leave the compartment. When the door slides shut, Draco leans forward. “What can I do for you, Tiger?” he asks eagerly.

Tiger’s heart twists a little more with guilt. “You don’t have to do anything for me, you know. We’re friends now, yeah? So I want to make sure you’re really friends with me, and not just because you really like the Nymphs of Neverland.”

“Of course we’re friends! I don’t even faint around you anymore!” Draco blushes a little at the reminder of his past embarrassment, but plows onward. “You go out of your way to talk to me, and you do nice things for me, and you’re also pretty and good at singing! See, there’s a bunch of things I like about you that don’t have to do with the band.”

“One of them kind of was,” Tiger says with a small smile.

“Okay, but it needed to be said.”

“I just… I’m worried that you might only like me for Tiger Turpin, but I can’t be Tiger Turpin because I’m Tiger Potter.” 

“That’s alright!” Draco enthuses. “I’ve known since last year that you’re Tiger Potter. I understand that you have your reasons. You’ve got to get through school so you can do great things. I am glad to say to the whole world that Tiger Potter is my friend!”

“Really?” Tiger asks. “So you’d be okay with it if I asked you to forget I ever was Tiger Turpin and only think of me and talk to me like I’m Tiger Potter?” Something in her chest unclenches. She hadn’t expected Draco to be so understanding and open-minded about this, and it’s a relief that he’d already known that she wasn’t who he thought she was.

“Of course. I’ve been doing it for the past two years, haven’t I?”

The two smile at each other, and Draco doesn’t even faint a little bit when Tiger gives him a hug and a wink as she leaves the compartment.

(Unfortunately, there is something to be said about implied understanding, namely that neither party can be assumed to understand the same implications from a given dialogue. As Draco ushers his other friends back into the compartment, he is warm with the knowledge that Tiger Turpin still trusts him to keep her true identity secret. If she wants his help to further her school persona, who is Draco to deny his friend and idol?)

* * *

When she disembarks the train, Tiger is prepared to have a better start to her summer than last year. Madame Pince had made her promise to write twice a week to check in, emphasizing the importance of talking about any scary feelings or memories that come up. She has met the Dursleys, after all, and she’s under no illusions as to the kind of people Tiger’s aunt and uncle are.

Plus, Ron promised to break her out again if the Dursleys do anything like last summer, so at least there’s a way out. Ginny had added that she would come too in that case, as had Neville, Hermione, Lavender, Parvati, and Padma. Tiger isn’t sure that she would fit in the car if all of them came for her, but it’s a nice gesture anyway. 

Tiger can feel it. _This_ summer is going to be a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Blackmail is _such_ a strong word. [return to text]
> 
> Uhh Hagrid never got arrested and Dumbledore was never ousted from his position in this universe, mostly because I forgot about it but secondarily because I couldn’t really think of how Fudge got wind of anything wrong. Hey, this is already a canon rewrite, why not?
> 
> Tom Riddle Imperiused the basilisk to do his bidding, so safe to say that Coil doesn’t have any fond feelings for him.


	4. Coil and Tiger (ART)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can vividly imagine the scene of Coil and Tiger talking, so I decided to draw it so the rest of you can also see the scene with me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full resolution available on my tumblr, @cequonveut
> 
> Drawn in Adobe Fresco  
> I wasn't originally going to draw every scale and every stone, but I did anyway and it looks really good so I guess it was worth it XD

  
  



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